


Mockingbird, Can't You See?

by waitingforjudas



Series: Judas' Kinktober 2019 [31]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Derek Hale/Top Stiles Stilinski, Claiming, Claiming Bites, Dirty Talk, Dom Stiles Stilinski, Halloween, Halloween Costumes, Kinktober, Kinktober 2019, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Mates, Rimming, Stiles Stilinski as Little Red Riding Hood, Sub Derek Hale, Werewolf Mates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-01
Updated: 2019-11-01
Packaged: 2021-01-16 15:34:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21273515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waitingforjudas/pseuds/waitingforjudas
Summary: The third time just might be the charm; if Derek can get out of his head and trust Stiles, that is.Written for Kinktober 2019 prompts: Free Day!





	Mockingbird, Can't You See?

**Author's Note:**

> For updates about future fanworks, you can check out my tumblr at www.waitingforjudas.tumblr.com
> 
> This was written in about an hour's worth of sprints, but I did edit and proofread it, so hopefully there won't be any outrageous typos, lol! 
> 
>   
_Written for Kinktober 2019. Prompt list can be found at https://twitter.com/NihilistShiro/status/1162794889970511872._

The aftermath had been brutal. Stiles hadn’t called anybody, and he’d let Derek have the time to himself, but when Derek finally came out the next morning—and he’d only been able to turn off the faucets a few hours before that—things had gotten bad. He hadn’t thought it would, but it did. 

Stiles had talked to him about how he needed to respect himself, at least somewhat, and how pushing himself to have sex with Stiles in a way that he was deeply uncomfortable with because he thought Stiles wanted it—and because werewolf traditions dictated it—was completely and utterly outrageous. But… Derek didn’t know what else to do. It was Stiles—everything was Stiles. He just wanted to claim his mate and try to reassure himself that Stiles wouldn’t leave. 

Stiles had stared at him in what looked like pretty much complete disbelief when he’d admitted that. And then he’d said, “You seriously fucking think I’d leave you behind? That’s— Derek, what on the fucking planet would compel me to leave you? I thought you were actually there when I was underage and in love with you. I thought you knew that my dad was ready to kill both of us. Were you just not? Seriously?” 

And then he ranted for another few minutes, and Derek felt worse and worse—partly for the events of the night before, and partly because he’d doubted his mate so much. 

Unclaimed. 

Stiles had reminded him of that. “It’s not your fault you got worried, Der. You haven’t claimed me yet, and I’m betting that you’ve got just about everything in the world screaming at your wolf to claim me. But you’re worried that if you do, then I’m just going to leave. Am I right?” 

Derek had nodded. 

“Okay. I tell you what. I’ll fix this. I should’ve figured it out sooner, and I’m so sorry I—” 

“How the hell were you supposed to know?” Derek snapped. “You don’t have werewolf smell.” 

Stiles sighed. “I don’t have super-senses, no, but I know my boyfriend. Or, at least, I thought I did. I definitely don’t. But I _will_ fix this. Okay? I’ll pick a day. And we’ll do it then.” 

“Okay,” Derek had said. “When?” 

Stiles smiled at him, sweet and gentle. “Let me be clear about something, Derek,” he’d said. “I’m in charge this time. You’ll tell me if something goes wrong, but otherwise? I pick the day. I pick the time. I pick the moment. I’m in charge. Not you.” 

Derek had finally calmed down for the first time in days, and he’d been near tears. Stiles had just sweetly, gently kissed him and then hugged him tightly. “Remember,” he’d whispered, “you’re not in charge anymore.” 

Now, though, Derek was almost regretting having agreed to that. He’d liked the idea at first—and a lot, actually—but now that it had been over two weeks, with part of those two weeks spent trying on various Halloween costumes that he was certain were just a way for Stiles to torture Derek, well. He liked it somewhat less. 

He just wanted to claim his mate. He loved the feeling of connection he always got when they were together, and he just… he missed it. And he wanted to know if it was true, what he’d heard from other ‘wolves—if claiming his mate would heighten the pleasure and the bond. 

It should, at least, strengthen the bond between them. Derek would be even more efficient in making sure that he protected Stiles, but he wasn’t sure what the extent of it would be. 

He pulled on the torn, raggedy clothes that Stiles had insisted were a great costume. He doubted that, really, but then again, Stiles had chosen his own outrageous Halloween costume. 

The one that Derek loved and hated in equal measure. 

Every time Stiles smiled at a trick-or-treater, Derek wanted to run over and hug Stiles to his chest, smile about how this was his beautiful mate—and every time that Stiles bent over to pick up handfuls of candy for them, he wanted to die. And he kind of wanted to kill Stiles, too. 

Stiles had thought it was a fantastic idea for him to wolf out to his beta shift and consider it a werewolf costume. Derek thought it was less fantastic, but that was only because it was getting harder to control himself when he was shifted around Stiles. 

He kept trying to remind himself, though, about what claiming Stiles would involve if he saw it through, and that was… working very well. Scarily so. 

It was also scaring Derek that maybe he couldn’t claim Stiles without freaking out. And maybe he should just get over himself and let himself panic. 

Stiles grinned down at another Little Red Riding Hood. “Twinsies!” he crowed. “That calls for double candy.” 

Derek rolled his eyes, snorting to himself. Stiles had created a reason for every child to get “double candy” the whole night. Every one of them had smiled, nervous and shy or confident and eager for their “doubled” candy. 

Derek had put a stop to Stiles’ actual “double candy” years ago, when Stiles had given out heaping handfuls as “regular candy” and two handfuls as “double candy.” 

He’d also, coincidentally, learned why Stiles had over twenty-five pounds of candy stored for the holiday. 

He’d also tried (unsuccessfully) to put a stop to Christmas trick-or-treating, New Year’s trick-or-treating, Thanksgiving trick-or-treating, and back to school trick-or-treating. 

But then he’d seen, firsthand, just how much Stiles loved passing out candy to little kids and he hadn’t been able to stomach ending the constant trick-or-treating, either. 

So that had been an interesting argument. One that Derek had completely and utterly lost, too, and one that he was proud to lose (mostly). 

Stiles upended the plastic cauldron over a fourth-grader’s pillowcase, shaking out the last candy bars. “Happy Halloween!” 

“Thank you!” 

Stiles turned to Derek. “So. I guess that’s it for the night, unless you’ve got more candy hidden somewhere.” 

He did, but it was four fun-size Snickers, and he really didn’t want to give them up, as selfish as it was. 

“Not enough for how much you like to pass out.” 

Stiles snorted at him, kissing him chastely. “You know, I’m surprised that nobody complained about me crossdressing.” 

“The only thing they have grounds to complain about is the fact that you’re giving candy in large enough amounts that half of those kids’ll probably become prediabetic.” 

Stiles waved him off as he shut off the twinkle lights. “Please. They’re fine. Kids are resilient.” 

“Werewolf kids are resilient. Humans… not so much.” Derek swallowed, realizing what he was really implying. “Um. Never mind.” 

“No, I know,” Stiles said, sounding unoffended. “It’s fine, I know what you mean. You’re not the most eloquent and you’re grumpy. You just sound mean.” 

Derek scowled at the plastic skeleton. “I’m mean.”

Stiles pinched his cheek. “Sure you are.” 

“I’m sorry, are you my great-aunt?” 

Stiles laughed, high and clear. “No.” 

“Hey, can you put my boots up?” Derek shucked them off. “I just want to check the house over, and it’s kind of hard when—” 

“You sound like the danger you’re looking for. I get it. Just come to bed soon? I’m tired.” 

Derek smiled gratefully and handed Stiles his boots. “I promise.” 

Stiles headed off to the bedroom and Derek smiled to himself. He didn’t know when Stiles would finally decide that Derek was ready—that the time was right—but he would wait forever for him. 

He just hoped that he wouldn’t have to. 

Unsurprisingly, the house was secure. He wasn’t expecting anything different—Derek just couldn’t sleep unless he’d checked it. And Stiles didn’t like it when Derek couldn’t sleep, mostly because Stiles fell asleep after Derek did. And a little because Derek, when he didn’t sleep, usually had something else going on that made him a difficult person to be around. 

They’d never slept apart (except in extenuating circumstances, like Derek panicking a couple weeks ago, or the time that Stiles had been in the ICU and Derek had been too terrified to crawl into bed next to him) since the first night they’d slept together. Even during their worst, most brutal fights, they’d never slept in separate beds. 

Basically, if one of them couldn’t sleep, then neither of them could sleep. And it was rarely intentional—it was just how things had worked out for them. 

“Stiles?” Derek called softly. Stiles’ heartbeat was a little on the fast side, but the chances of him watching a horror movie on silent were strangely high. 

He could hear Stiles walking around, though, and he frowned. The house was secure—there shouldn’t be any risk to Stiles. 

He wouldn’t dare take that for granted, though. 

Derek knocked on the bedroom door and opened it. “Hey, Stiles—” He froze. 

Stiles grinned at him. Fully naked. “Well?” 

Derek blinked. Swallowed. 

Stiles’ smile faltered. “Hey, if— If you’re not comfortable with this, then—”

Derek stalked forward and grabbed Stiles by his waist. “I’m comfortable.” 

“Good. That’s good. I’m glad.” Stiles cupped Derek’s face and kissed him sweetly—just one brief peck, though, not the long, involved session that Derek was craving. “I want to claim you.” 

“I want you to,” Derek murmured, and something felt a little off about that, but the rest of it was good. The rest of it was incredible. Stiles was incredible. 

Stiles pushed him off. “Lie down. Ass up.” 

Derek hesitated, and then he realized why this was strange. “Stiles, you can’t— I’m supposed to claim you.” 

Stiles blinked. “Yeah, I understand that.” 

“You said you’d claim me. It’s the other way around.” 

Stiles’ gaze darkened. “You belong to me just as much as I belong to you, Derek. But I want to make it clear to you and to your wolf who’s in charge here. And it’s not you.” 

Derek crawled onto the bed and froze when Stiles told him to stop. 

“I want you to take your clothes off. Slowly.” 

Derek hesitated, trying to think of how to do it as smoothly as possible, but decided that, if Stiles wanted him to look graceful, he would’ve asked for it. 

He felt the tension bleed out of him as he pulled his shredded henley off and unbuttoned his jeans. 

Stiles’ hand came down on his ass, heavy and tight, and he moaned, falling back to his hands and knees as he pressed into his mate’s grip. 

“Beautiful,” Stiles said. “Beautiful. You look so gorgeous. But you know how I think you’d look even better?” 

“How?” Derek rasped. 

“Not covering yourself with anything at all.” 

Derek blinked at him, slow and calculating—trying to figure out whether Stiles meant what he was saying. 

He was certain that Stiles did, though, so he went back to pulling off his jeans. 

Stiles grabbed his waistband and pulled his jeans and boxer briefs down. “I think you’ll look even prettier when I’m deep inside your pretty little ass, Der. What do you think?” 

He nodded, trying not to whimper and whine like he wanted to so desperately. He loved Stiles, and if this was how Stiles wanted to do things, he would do it. Always. He just wanted Stiles to be happy. And he would do whatever it took. 

And if Stiles just wanted him to strip naked and get his ass fucked, that was easy, because Derek wanted that, too.

Derek swallowed nervously as Stiles took off his pants and boxer briefs altogether. “Tell you what, Sourwolf. I’m gonna make you feel so good, but if you don’t feel good, you’ll tell me and we’ll figure out how to make you feel even better. Is that understood?” 

“Yes,” Derek said, cutting himself off before he could tack on an Alpha to it. 

That would have been too mortifying for him to even comprehend. He was supposed to be the Alpha, not Stiles. Not his mate. 

Never mind that Derek had never been dominant or even that he’d wanted to be the Alpha at all. 

He listened to Stiles’ heartbeat as he tossed the jeans off to the side. Derek smiled as Stiles clambered onto the bed behind him, flailing as he did so and his breath rushing out of him in a sharp, sudden huff. 

Derek tried not to laugh, but Stiles’ hands pressed into his ass, spreading him wide, and he choked out a grunt. 

It wasn’t really a squeak. 

Stiles snorted. “You’re so desperate for me, aren’t you?” 

“Maybe.” Derek swallowed as Stiles pressed into his flesh harder, spreading him wider. “Shit, Stiles.” 

“I know,” Stiles murmured. “I know. You’re gonna tell me if I go too far, aren’t you?” 

“Yes, A— Yes.” Derek flushed. He hadn’t meant to say that, but he didn’t think it would be much better if he told Stiles that he hadn’t meant to call him Alpha. 

Stiles’ tongue slid over his hole, warm and wide and wet, and Derek relaxed, trying to just let himself breathe and enjoy this for what it was—good. He didn’t need to panic or worry about how Stiles was going to interpret what happened between them, and he could just give himself over. 

That was, actually, how the relationship between Alphas and their mates was supposed to be. But the mate was supposed to relax with the Alpha completely, and the Alpha was supposed to care for them fully. Not all of this—this bullshit that Derek kept up. 

“Hey,” Stiles said, pulling away and licking his lips. “Hey. What’re you thinking?” 

Derek sighed, shaking his head. “I’m supposed to do this for you. Not the other way around.” 

“Because you’re the Alpha?” 

He nodded. 

“I know that that’s, like, your catchphrase or whatever, but I want to be clear about this, Der—you’re not the Alpha right now. Okay? You’re not. I am. I’m the Alpha.” Stiles chuckled at himself, probably smirking to himself, but Derek couldn’t laugh at that. He didn’t think it was possible to find that amusing when it was so—so reassuring. 

“Yes, Alpha,” Derek whispered, barely audible even to his own ears, but he felt all the worries and fears and all the terror that he wasn’t ever going to be good enough just slip away, out of his mind, out of his consciousness. Far beyond his tunnel vision of Stiles. 

Stiles didn’t seem to notice what he’d said, but Derek must’ve done something, because he dove back in, licking and sucking at Derek’s hole with long, sloppy strokes of his tongue that would drive him insane. And Derek was going to love being insane as long as it meant that they would do this forever. He was going to love giving himself over to Stiles as long as it meant that he was Stiles’, now and forever. 

He wanted to be Stiles’ mate, not the Alpha. Not the facilitator, or the aggressor—he wanted to follow in Stiles’ footsteps, not force Stiles to follow him. 

If he claimed Stiles—and if Stiles wanted it—then they could be better than partners. Even better than equals—Derek could follow Stiles. Not too far behind, if only for the pack’s appearances, but he could. He could. 

Stiles’ tongue fucked inside of his hole and Derek shouted, gasping as Stiles filled him. It felt huge, impossibly big, and he could feel Stiles in his throat, in the tips of his fingers, and he felt—he felt claimed. He felt possessed. He felt like Stiles’. 

“You’re gonna bite me, right?” Derek slurred it into the pillow, sleepy and relaxed but somehow wired and wide a-fucking-wake at the same time. 

Stiles pulled out and there was a pause before Stiles spat onto Derek’s hole directly. 

Derek shuddered, moaning as his hole clenched involuntarily, tightening up and grasping at Stiles’ spit. “Oh, god, Alpha. Please, please claim me.” His voice didn’t even feel like his own, but it felt right. It felt true. 

“I’m going to bite you,” Stiles said, “and then you’re going to lock down on it so it doesn’t heal before it can scar. And then you’ll tattoo it onto your neck so that everybody can see you wearing my mark. And they’ll know that you’re mine, too. They’ll know how much power I have over you—because I have power over you, don’t I, Der?” 

Derek nodded, desperate to agree and get Stiles to just bite him already. “You do. You do, Alpha, you do. Alpha—Alpha, please.” 

“Shh,” Stiles whispered, leaning down and kissing next to his ear. “Shh. I’ll take care of you, Der. You know I’ll always take care of you, don’t you?” 

He nodded again. He hadn’t really stopped, though. “I do. I know, Alpha. I know. Please.” 

He could feel Stiles smiling against his cheek. “Are you wet enough for me, omega? Or—” 

Derek shook, grabbing out at Stiles’ arm and pulling his hand to his cock. “Stiles.” 

“Good or bad?” And Stiles just sounded so fucking serious, so determined to make things good for Derek that Derek could barely whine. 

“Good, Alpha, s’good. Please.” He hissed it, just a little, and Stiles chuckled. 

“Okay. Okay. Good boy. You’re a good omega for your Alpha, aren’t you? A good mate for me.” 

The air rushed out of the room and Derek struggled to breathe around the love filling his chest, his throat, his nostrils. He nodded. “Best I can,” he murmured. 

“Always,” Stiles said, and it—it was true. Stiles was telling the truth. He knew Derek did the best he could. 

“I love you, Alpha,” Derek whispered. 

“I love you, too, omega.” Stiles leaned away for a moment and one of his hands disappeared, but his cock pressed against Derek’s loose hole, and then Stiles spat again and Derek shuddered again, muscles going loose and limp, all of his body going slack. Stiles needed to bite the back of his neck now, gently enough that it wouldn’t claim him, but enough that it would hold him—scruff him like he was a pup. 

Derek swallowed as Stiles bottomed out against his ass, and Derek savored the feeling of Stiles pressed up tightly against him. Containing him, holding him, keeping him safe. 

“I love you,” Derek said again. “I love you, Stiles.” 

“I know,” Stiles muttered, not unkindly, but very distracted. And then Stiles was leaning down further, and then there were teeth, gentle but firm, gripping the back of Derek’s neck, and he couldn’t. He couldn’t hold on much longer, not like this. 

“I can’t,” Derek gasped. “I can’t, I can’t, Stiles— Alpha, Alpha, please claim me. Please, please, bite me, claim me. I want to be yours.” 

“You already are,” Stiles said into his skin, but he let up just enough to move his mouth and then he bit down on Derek’s neck, hard, and Derek screamed with the perfect, sharp, overpowering pain. Stiles kept biting until Derek clutched onto his healing and prevented the mark from healing too fast. He wanted it to scar. He needed it to scar. 

Stiles drew back and rolled Derek onto his back, and then he slid back inside of him and kissed Derek gently. Derek could taste his blood on Stiles’ tongue, and it was too overwhelming for him to keep a secure enough grasp on his knot anymore, and it started to swell before he could stop it. 

He whined as Stiles took his knot, squeezing it in his hand evenly, keeping consistent pressure on it. 

“Go for it, Der,” Stiles said, tipping his head back. 

Derek frowned. “But I have to shift.” 

Stiles glanced at him. “You’re in beta shift. You have been since we were outside. Claim me.” 

And then Derek realized just how much of a genius his mate really was—Stiles had convinced him to shift into his beta form as a Halloween costume, and Derek had gotten comfortable in his shift. There wasn’t any moment of truth big shift—Derek had been shifted the whole time. 

And suddenly, Derek realized that they would be okay. Stiles knew him. Stiles knew him. He wouldn’t just leave Derek. 

Derek leaned up and pressed his open mouth against Stiles’ neck. 

“Claim me, Derek,” Stiles whispered, and Derek whined as his knot swelled. Stiles’ thrusts had paused so Derek could bite him safely, but Derek was sure that the moment he claimed Stiles, things would get intense no matter what. 

He hesitated, and then he bit down. 

Stiles’ blood rushed into his mouth, hot and thick, and Derek was torn between sucking hard to drink more of it down and gasping and running for something to staunch it with before his knot ballooned and he came, shouting against Stiles’ skin, digging his teeth in harder just to have something to hold on to. 

He could feel Stiles coming inside of him, and he could hear, over the ringing in his ears, Stiles’ low, pained moan. 

Derek tried to let up on Stiles’ neck, but it was almost impossible. All he could focus on was not letting Stiles’ claiming mark heal. 

A few minutes later, Derek finally stopped coming and let go of Stiles. 

“Sorry,” he said, shifting back to his human form and licking his teeth. 

Stiles snorted. “There’s nothing to apologize for, Der.” He pulled out of Derek and stood to take out a clean piece of gauze and some medical tape, which he put over the bite. “It’ll heal pretty quickly, I think.” 

Derek nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, it will. It should scar within the week.” 

“Good to know.” Stiles got back in bed and wrapped his arms around Derek. 

He was quiet for a moment. So was Derek. 

“You’ve got an incredible bubble butt,” Stiles said, and Derek laughed and kissed Stiles—his mate. 

His claimed mate. 

“Hell of a month,” Derek muttered. 

Stiles snorted. “Don’t I know it.” 

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed, please consider leaving kudos or a comment. 
> 
> _This work was inspired by @NihilistShiro's Kinktober prompt list, available here: https://twitter.com/NihilistShiro/status/1162794889970511872 _


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